The Gift
by rslhilson
Summary: House gives Wilson a gift...or two. H/W slash; Spoilers/warnings inside.


_The Gift_

**Spoilers: **Please, **stop reading here if you've been trying to stay in the dark about how the series might end, **as the story was inspired by spoilers for possible Season 8 endings. Also includes small reference to plotline from 7x12, "You Must Remember This."

**Warnings: **Impending character death; sexual implications and reference to masturbation (but nothing terribly explicit).

* * *

><p>The ball of pale yellow fur squirms quietly against deep blue denim sleeves, gentle fingers rubbing comforting circles over its back.<p>

"I brought you a present," House says.

Wilson's red-rimmed eyes rest tentatively on the golden retriever and he sniffs a little, not bothering to blame allergies or a bad run-in with wasps. "I was on my way out," he replies quietly, tugging on the hem of his khaki jacket for proof. "I'm out of beer."

It's true, and House knows he isn't lying, but he hobbles into the atrium anyway and kicks the door shut behind him. "It can wait," he says.

Wilson purses his lips, though it's not out of anger or frustration. "House – "

"He's neutered and house-trained," House interrupts, making his way into the living room. His cane is dangling on his arm as he limps, leaving both hands free. "And he won't bite. Barely barked a word the whole way over." Man and animal collapse onto the couch, the cane flung to the floor.

Slowly, Wilson follows them inside. He removes his jacket, the quest for liquid comfort pushed aside in favor of more important things. Sitting beside House, he clears his throat and says, in quiet defiance:

"I don't need a dog."

"I know," House replies, a little too much cheer in his voice. "But you don't _need_ a lot of things. You didn't need Sarah, for instance."

It takes Wilson a few moments to catch up, it's been so long. "This is…about my cat?"

"She died," House says simply. "You needed a new pet, now I'm giving you a new pet."

"House, she died months ago. You can't just…you can't just _replace _things like that."

House shrugs. "Sure you can."

"No," Wilson says, and this time he actually sounds angry. "No, you can't."

They sit in silence for a while, the puppy finally settling down and content to be petted in House's arms. Wilson is breathing, just breathing, focusing on the inhale and the exhale and the 1-2-3 the way he's been focusing on it for the past three days. In and out, in and out, in and one two three and out.

"His name is Buddy," House tries, and now Wilson's breathing is all off again.

"You don't get to do this," he whispers. He'd been hoping to be more forceful than this, to be grinding out the words through gritted teeth or be yelling them from anger-filled lungs. But he can't. "You don't get to buy me a puppy and act like that makes it all better."

House takes a deep breath, and Wilson envies him for the ability. "I've got time," he says at last. "The x-rays – "

"The x-rays were shit," Wilson mumbles, and House knows it, too.

"Okay," he corrects, "I don't have all that much time. But this puppy – "

"House." Wilson's jaw is finally clenching the way he wants it to, thank God. "I don't. Want. The puppy."

"I'm not saying you need to replace me," House argues, exasperated. "This'll just make it easier when you can play catch and take walks instead of watching me pop pills and eat up your life."

"Why does _everyone_ do this?" Wilson almost wants to laugh, it's so absurd. "Why does _everyone_ think I'm such an idiot?"

"Because…you blow-dry your hair?" House frowns.

"No one ever questions why you're _my_ friend. I feed you, I lend you ridiculous amounts of money, I'm the king of all enablers."

House nods, understanding. "But they question why you're _my _friend. And they should."

"No," Wilson counters. His voice is breaking, riding his vocal chords in waves, as if he's not sure if he should be talking at all but there's nothing to be done; you can't stop the tide. "No, they shouldn't. I've had three failed marriages and I watched Amber die in my arms, and every day I'm either calling time of death or telling ten more people that there's nothing I can do. I am _depressed_, and I am _not _well-adjusted, and I am _alone_."

It isn't very often that Wilson surprises himself. He wonders if he can blame it on the last of the beer he'd downed before House had knocked on the door.

"Only I'm not alone, because there's you," he continues softly. "And you remind me that no matter how much it hurts, there's always something worth fighting for."

House's arms have long been immobile. Buddy, bored by the lack of attention, jumps off his lap and trots away.

"You fight for the truth," Wilson goes on. "You fight for your patients' lives. You fight for the sake of fighting and you don't know if it's going to be worth it, but you fight anyway."

"And that's why you're my friend," House says – a statement rather than a question. "Because of this _illusion_ that I'm not a quitter."

"It's not an illusion, it's a fact. I see it every day. And if it weren't for you, I'd have quit a long time ago."

"Wilson – "

"If anything, you fight for _me. _And if I'm the only one who's been able to see that, well, that's all that really matters anyway."

House swallows. He licks his lips, tries to come up with some fantastically witty remark like he always does but all that comes out is, "I'm sorry."

Wilson furrows his brow. "For what?"

"For the fact that I'm quitting on you now." House looks away, his eyes trying to focus on the floor, and then the wall, before finally settling on the organ in the corner.

Wilson shakes his head. "Of course it'd be cancer," he murmurs. "The universe loves irony. It should've been me. I should've had some crazy, mysterious disease that you couldn't diagnose in time, and then at the autopsy it'd turn out to be lupus."

The corners of House's lips quirk instinctively. "I'd laugh at you on the autopsy table, you know."

"God, I hope so."

The padding of paws on the floor signals Buddy's return. He jumps back into House's lap, his teeth clamped around some kind of object as he finds a comfortable position. Wilson doesn't care to know what's been slobbered on, choosing to nestle his fingers in the dog's fur instead, but House is more curious. Carefully prying open the dog's mouth, he pulls out the found treasure and smirks.

"Didn't know you were feeling_ quite _so lonely, Wilson."

Wilson's eyes widen as he realizes what it is. Embarrassed, he snatches the lube away and hurries off to rinse the slobber off the tube. "Don't look so smug," he calls over his shoulder. "I'm sure I'd find the same in _your _bedroom."

"Find Wilson's lube in a dog's germ-infested mouth," House says when Wilson returns. "I can check that off my bucket list now."

"I'm sure you've got a list a mile long," Wilson snorts.

"As if I'd tell you."

"I wish you would," Wilson admits. "C'mon, there must be things you've wanted to do, places you've wanted to go. Now's the time to do all that, isn't it?"

House seems to consider this before suddenly pushing the dog off his lap, limping away.

Wilson watches him go, surprised. "Where are you – "

"Relax, I'll be back." The brief sound of running water in the kitchen floats through the air and then House returns, as promised.

"Since when do you care about dog germs?" Wilson asks as House sits back down again.

"Since _this_," House replies, and lets a hand fall to Wilson's crotch.

* * *

><p>Wilson blinks once. Twice. Three times.<p>

"House," he says slowly. "House, what are you – "

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"House, your bucket list is supposed to be about going to Paris and sailing the Venetian canals, not – "

"Not what?" House curls his fingers in ever so slightly, making Wilson inhale sharply through his nose. "Don't tell me you've never thought about this, never dreamt about it, never fantasized about it."

Wilson has. Oh, he _has_. It didn't matter whether he'd been watching Bonnie or Julie ride him from above, or watching Amber's head bob up and down below, or letting his own fingers dance along himself. It has always, _always, _been about this.

But it's too late to surrender now.

"House," he warns, his voice low. "You need to let go of me."

"Why," House challenges. "You say I'm a fighter. This isn't something I'll be giving up on."

"I am not…_consenting_ to this." This is exactly why he should've made the beer run instead.

"Why," House repeats.

"Tell me something," Wilson says, painfully aware that House's hand hasn't budged. "Have you…have you always…?"

"Yep."

"And yet you've never…"

"Nope."

"Why not? Why…now?"

"Because you're wrong." House removes his hand then, letting Wilson relax. "You say I fought for you. I say I was a coward."

"But now you want to." Wilson's breathing is off again and he has to take a few moments, steady himself. "Now you want to because you're…" The words trail away and he shakes his head, adamant. "No. No, I'm not doing this. Not now."

"Why?" House presses. "Afraid that I'm going to leave you? Newsflash, Wilson, I'm dying anyway. And you can – "

"House – "

" – you can regret this moment for the rest of your life or we can do this, you and me, right here, right now."

Wilson swallows. "If we do this," he says thickly, "it'll kill me."

"Actually, it's the never knowing that'll kill you."

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, in and one two three and out. God, why does House always have to be right?

"Wilson. Let me do this for you."

Wilson's voice is barely above a whisper. "I don't need sex to know that I – that you – "

"No," House agrees, his voice just as low. "But you don't _need_ a lot of things."

* * *

><p>Buddy joins them later that night, his mouth free of any more bottles of lube as he curls up by Wilson's bare chest. Behind them, House's own chest is pressed against Wilson's back, his arm wrapped over his waist.<p>

"You'll like him," House murmurs into Wilson's ear. "He knows to take a dump outside and leave all the bitches alone."

"I know."

"So you'll take him?"

Wilson sighs, gently laying a hand on the puppy's head to scratch behind his ears. "It's still going to suck, you know."

"Baby steps," House says, and smiles.

He doesn't need to see Wilson's face to know that the feeling is mutual.

* * *

><p><em>Fin<em>


End file.
